


"Told You So"

by DrGaybelGideon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And Alana discovers Frederick likes being put in his place, Caning, F/M, Masturbation, Two broken little shards cling together post S3, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrGaybelGideon/pseuds/DrGaybelGideon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick and Alana bond over more than their mutual canes</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Told You So"

Alana Bloom has changed. She feels it in her own slowly mending bones, knitting together daily, calcium hardening over deep cracks in the structure of her weakened bones.  
Rebuilding.  
Frederick Chilton hasn’t, turning up most days with the same pretentious flowers that she’s sure he brings just to set off her weak hay-fever, standing too close to gloat at her.  
She’s lost track of the times the phrase “told you so” has passed from slightly drooping lips.

They come to an unspoken agreement, the same plan without talking it over, to harass Mason Verger for resources they no longer trust the FBI to provide.  
Closure.  
Frederick Chilton jumps as they walk past each other and slams a hand to a face to cover a strangely makeup free scar, a painful buried secret he’s decided to excavate for no apparent reason still dark against uneven skin.  
  
“Mason Verger is a sadist.” He responds later, sinking a tumbler of whiskey with a pained scowl as he pours another glass.  
It’s her glass and her alcohol she reminds him icily. “My decision to drive over here to check if you were okay.”  
“You don’t need to check up on me, Frederick.” Alana may have drank slightly more of the half-empty bottle than she’d expected for her voice to come out so defensively. Frederick lolls his head backwards from where he’s spinning in a chair- her chair- and smiles, a patronizing curl of mouth she can’t even blame on facial paralysis any more.  
“Because you did so very well with your life choices last time, didn’t you, Doctor Bloom?”  
Alana blinks, stunned. Frederick’s still smiling, feet up on her desk, obviously drunk and worse, too drunk to drive as he watches her reaction with smirk crinkled eyes. “Hope you don’t mind if I keep tabs.”  
“I do mind, actually.” She sits up a little straighter herself, sudden stabbing anger rushing to her head along with the blood. “You psychically driving shit!”  
“Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of a lack of proof.” Frederick’s feet roll off the desk, smile fading slightly as he turns around to face her, the feeling of a consultant analyzing a patient only enhanced by the fact she’s on her couch. “The only good thing about Abel Gideon dying in my cellar- apart from the closure it offered- is the fact that all those accusations of clinical negligence will stop now.”  
She’s on her feet before she knows it, staggering, taking a moment to take another step towards him as her nails dig into her palms around her cane. She’s shocked, can’t figure out why he’s here or why she let him in, why he’s suddenly teasing and prodding and talking about Abel, who would’t be dead if-  
“He is dead because of your clinical malpractice and the fact you convinced him he was the Chesapeake Ripper, Frederick, don’t you dare lie about this.”  
“The Chesapeake Ripper who you dated, Alana, for how long without realizing?” Frederick’s on his feet now too, approaching her with a too-animated look on his face, cold fury disguised by sarcasm on the surface of his one working eye. He’s touching a nerve now, a nerve that’s still sore despite her attempts to cauterize it. “Ever wonder how many people you could have saved just by voicing a doubt, an inkling of concern-”  
Frederick buckles, staggering backwards under the weight of the echoing slap Alana’s managed to catch the good side of his face with, a small shocked whine of pain and worse, fear as he clutches the skin under one large hand.  
And then he breathes, and it clears, and Frederick shifts uncomfortably in trousers suddenly slightly too tight.  
This has been his plan all along, she realizes, disgust apparently clear enough in her face that guilt crosses his, drunk and vulnerable.  
“Alana-” Her look cuts him off, and Frederick sits there, small and drunk and silent until the taxi arrives.  
Alana debates exactly how much she’s changed, as she massages her hand a little later, that Frederick Chilton, sitting mild and obedient after she hurt him- physically hurt him- started to become an appealing rather than a horrifying sight.  
  
The suite she’s checked into in Italy after a too-long flight has two beds, and the sight resigns her to her fate.  
Frederick stumbles in with an absurdly overlarge suitcase two hours of her attempting to sleep off jetlag later, turning on the light and clattering around loudly to unpack. He hasn’t noticed her, too tired to notice dark hair on the other bed’s pillow until he returns from the shower and jumps as he mets her tired eyes.  
“They didn’t tell me.” He protests, a slight tinge of embarrassment to his tone that appeals slightly to feelings she still has the aftertaste of from their last encounter.  
Feelings that have died down since Margot, and ones she refuses to explore any further.  
“Didn’t tell me either.”  
Alana rolls over and goes back off to sleep, turning her back so she doesn’t have to bother seeing the look of lust? Desperation? Shame?- on Frederick’s face.  
  
“Alana!” They avoid each-other and the subjects of Frederick’s odd arousal for the first few days, permenant tiredness and her roommate taking an extra 30 minutes to apply his face helping their efforts. “We need to talk.”   
“We don’t.” Alana rebuffs his slightly desperate tone as calmly as she can. They’ve survived their odd arrangements fine thus far, and she’s fine to carry on in the same state of avoidance that’s sustained her already. “I have a girlfriend, Margot, and no interest in your odd reactions to being punched in the face.”  
“We both know that’s not quite true.” Frederick attempts a cocky smile, but it fades after a moment as he visibly plucks a taunt from midair. “Besides, you’ve never dated women before.”  
It’s a pathetic attempt at being provocative, made worse by the fact it’s untrue.  
“Not that you’ve seen. Unlike you, if I have a partner, I don’t feel the need to brag about it, and I doubt you’re exactly straight yourself for reasons of necessity.” That last remark was uncalled for, bringing in all the stereotypes she herself has had to work hard to disprove. He doesn’t deny it, though. Frederick looks stung for a second, then smiles, darkly amused as he leans a little closer.  
“You’re really starting to enjoy being cruel, aren’t you, Doctor Bloom?”  
“I’m enjoying being honest, Frederick.” A similar twist of lips is mirrored in her own mouth, no warmth in it. “It’s a refreshing change.”  
She ends up giving in eventually, a single, weak attempt at landing a blow on his knees with the cane in her hand that pathetic or not, Frederick responds to beautifully, moaning and better, stopping the lecture on the psychological origins of sado-masochism she swears remembering from medical school as he cuts off with a toothy smile.  
  
“Touch yourself.”  
30 days of unsuccessful cabin fever causes the remark to slip experimentally from her mouth, and the man opposite her to groggily sit upright.  
“Excuse me?” Frederick’s not as alert as she’d imagined him being at this statement, meaning he’s either sleepy or offended.  
“Touch yourself.” She tries again a little more authoratively, slightly nervous now at the prospect of what she’s just said. They haven’t set any boundaries, even though sex is firmly off the cards, and what she’s asking might be a little over the line as Frederick still looks confused.  
“You’re dating someone?” Margot. Alana’s suddenly very aware of how good Frederick is at respecting boundaries, even though he’s slightly aroused now. Wary.  
“I’m not going to touch you. Don’t flatter yourself.” She adds, deepening the already pink flush in the portions of the man’s face not covered in makeup. “I’m just bored.”  
“Frustrated.” Frederick nods, still sightly unsure what to do as his fingers adjust the sheets taut around his crotch. “Are you sure? I am many things, but homewrecker is a label I try to avoid.”  
“Just do it. I hear you in the bathroom anyway.” She’s not going to do anything, just watch as Frederick pats down his makeup and scar, making sure they’re still in place as he tentatively wriggles out from under his blanket, sliding pajama bottoms down surprisingly wide hips as he goes.  
Alana watches, watches Frederick Chilton’s attempts to perform at first slowly descend into more genuine movements as his hands move faster, head lolling backwards, only stopping for a brief moment to pull his tee-shirt down before he runs a slick hand down his length again.  
  
“Did you ever fuck Abel Gideon?” She enquires the fourth time it happens, an offhand remark just to see how he responds. He freezes, using both hands to hoist himself up and walk off into the bathroom, shuddering a little more than normal as he fumbles with the carved doorhandle and leaving Alana sat slightly in shock on the bed behind him, scared she’s stumbled onto something far worse than she’d imagined as he walks away.  
“No! No.” Frederick reassures, fully dressed and slightly startled a brief few moments later. “Trust me, the man was too focused on my organs to be inside me in any other ways. He just…. talked a lot. Ran me through the procedures, the same way he probably did at his old job. Still acts as a fairly instant cold shower.”  
Alana realises she’s touching an upper arm then, the first time she’s ever really given the man a gentle touch.  
  
She doesn’t put him out of bed a few nights later either, when he hesitantly causes the mattress behind her to dip, explaining that he saw Hannibal earlier and he doesn’t want to cling, just wouldn’t mind being in the same space for a while until he sleeps.  
He hasn’t got his teeth in, she hears him. He’s broken too, an odd little shard she can’t imagine how she’s going to live with after this is done.  
Like her cane, a small, helpful tool she’ll use for support and attack for now and deal with the practicalities of later.  
Frederick snores


End file.
